


The Sculpture

by GlowingMechanicalHeart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Divine matchmaking, F/M, Gods, Modern Westeros, Sculpter!Rickard, Sculpture, The Gods get involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowingMechanicalHeart/pseuds/GlowingMechanicalHeart
Summary: He works as if possessed on that particular piece. Little by little, a woman begins to take shape, she’s shorter than him, thin and with noble and elegant features, her hair looks windswept and free. Her eyes almost seem like she’s there, alive inside the marble.It’s only when he has finished the piece, that he names her. “Rhaella,” he speaks reverently to her, as if she were of flesh and bone.
Relationships: Rickard Stark/Rhaella Targaryen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	The Sculpture

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FlashFictionFriday Prompt of the day: #43 Gift of the Gods

In a world of Gods and Monsters, Rickard Stark believes in art.

Believes in it wholeheartedly, believes in its healing, in its ability to beautify ugly and monstrous things. So he does the only thing that makes sense for him: create it. He goes to art school and just dives in with reckless enthusiasm. It earns him high marks, praise and money – even before he’s graduated.

His art is alive, many tell him so. He believes it, mostly because he pours everything he has in every piece. He doesn’t hesitate to create, from a small painting of a flower to a large sculpture of one of the new Gods. He knows that this is what he was born for, and thus, he gives it all that he has to each piece.

When asked, what is his greatest art piece, he always answers, “I have yet to do it,” he answers gruffly. “Because as an artist, I am always trying to _do_ my best.”

Then, one day, on impulse, he buys a large and perfect piece of marble. His wallet screams when he picks the slab, but what he has in mind can only be done with a good canvas.

He works as if possessed on that particular piece. Little by little, a woman begins to take shape, she’s shorter than him, thin and with noble and elegant features, her hair looks windswept and free. Her eyes almost seem like she’s there, alive inside the marble.

It’s only when he has finished the piece, that he names her. “Rhaella,” he speaks reverently to her, as if she were of flesh and bone. “I will never sell your nor give you away, you, you are my greatest work.”

True to his word, he never sells that sculpture. Even for six figures offers, instead, he spends time with her, speaks to her as if she could hear him. Perhaps she does, but what he receives in turn is silence. But some days, he could swear that her eyes follow him. It doesn’t scare nor unnerve him, she’s his work and he will never be afraid of it.

And so time passes, he constantly sits down near her feet speaking to her about everything. From small little things ( _The new coffee shop has an amazing new coffee, it’s hazelnut flavored_ ), to big and important things ( _I think my_ _father_ _was afraid I’d fail as an artist_ _and I would have wasted my life_ ). Those moments where he sits with her and speaks freely, are most days, the best part of his day.

“You know Rhaella, when I first started making you, I never stopped to think _why_ I felt such compulsion to create. I still don’t understand if I’m perfectly honest, I just knew that I needed to make something and you were the result.

How idiotic of me, right? I mean, now I love you with all my heart to the point that some damage to you would hurt me. If you were to break, I’m not sure I could handle it. Selling you will never be an option.”

Then, one night, he awoke to a strange noise. He quickly threw the covers off, and trotted of barefoot from his room to his workshop, somehow he knew he had to go there. Heart beating loudly, he placed his hand on the door handle, then he opened the door and turned the lights on. His eyes widened in shock and awe.

There, in the middle of the room, stood Rhaella. But no longer marble, instead, she was bones and flesh, she turned when she heard the door opened and smiled at seeing him. “Hello Rickard,” her voice was firm, but gentle. “It’s a pleasure to finally be able to speak to you.”

He walked into the room, as if compelled. “...Rhaella?” She was far more beautiful in person than in marble, pale creamy complexion, warm purple eyes and silver hair. She was perfect.

“Yes,” Rhaella smiled, laughter clear in her voice. “Who else could I be?”

“...How?” Words were hard to articulate, his world had just been turned upside down.

“The Mother, she gave me life. She liked the painting you did of her, and she watched you for a two years, she watched you make me and then treat me like a person. So, she decided to reward you. I, Rickard Stark, am a gift from the Gods.”

“I am not worthy of this gift,” he finally managed to say something. “I am thankful for this miracle, I – well, feel unworthy of it.”

The smile that Rhaella gave him was dazzling, “That is what she said. She said that you’d call yourself unworthy of me and of her gift. But she asked me to tell you, that you are worth it, she would not have done so if she didn’t believe that you were good enough to receive such blessing.”

His head felt light, so he sat down on the floor and Rhaella followed him. “I have measured every woman against you,” he confessed, his voice soft and kind. “And I knew I would die alone, because they never seem good enough as you.”

“You, like other creators before you, love what you made. And as such, you have been given this gift. Will you reject it?”

“No!” He exclaimed, worried that Rhaella would think he would reject her too. “I would never, it… well, it feels so, surreal. Like I am still dreaming, like I wandered into a the best sort of dream.”

Rhaella drew closer and whispered against his lips. “This is not a dream. You and I, we can be together now. Until we both die, let us be thankful for this gift and relish in it. I have heard you, everything you’ve ever said to me and I quite like you.”

“And I have loved you since before you took shape,” he says, breathless. “And I will love you, until my dying day.”

“My love. My life.”

“My beloved.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, hope you all enjoy. Feel free to leave a comment!


End file.
